Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 6: He Who Hides in the Most Bras Wins)

please scroll down for chapter 5
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I chased the little shit through the crowded parking lot and back to the car where I strapped him in and decided to lay down the law once and for all.

“You listen to me, Linda Tripp. You don’t need to be repeating every bad word your Uncle Onionhead says back to your mommy OK? I have a real bad pottymouth, and when I was your age I had my mouth washed out with soap so many times that when I burped I blew bubbles.”

“COOL!”

“No, not cool. Your Uncle Onionhead is an underachiever and a pathetic loser, just ask your mom, or your gramma, or a street mime, they’ll tell you. Nothing I do or say is remotely COOL, it’s SAD. You don’t want to be like me. People laugh at me. No one takes me seriously. Is that what you want in life? Is it?

“I wanna be like you Unco Onionhead. You’re my best friend and my HEEWO.”

Aww shucks, (sniff), gosh darn it I’m his hero. I started getting a tingly feeling in my belly and a cozy warmth all over, and it wasn’t gas this time. I haven’t felt that much love since that night with the three Asian seductresses in the hot tub….errrr…OK, that’s a story for another day. But hey, this kid really LOVED me and I could do no wrong in his eyes. I could have sworn that Bette Midler was about to bellow out one of her beautiful Disney ballads. He was a special kid, and this was a special moment.

“Wyatt, you crazy kid, I’m your hero? Where did you get that silly idea from?”

“Fuck if I know, hahahahahaha!”

All right, let’s get this over with. Bette Midler blows.

We arrived at the mall without incident due to my trusty camera phone that was keeping Babblesaurus Rex busy in the backseat. However this time there were no spaces left in front of Build-A-Bear. So I went to plan B, but all the blue handi-capable spaces were occupied as well.

“Jesus Christ, what’s up with all these Christmas shoppers, don’t they know Santa Claus isn’t real???”

“What did you say, Unco Onionhead?”

“Umm…I said Jesus and Santa are the real deal…haha!”

“Yeah, Jebus and Santa, they’re pals just like me and you”

“You and I”

“Yeah, me and you”

Whateva.

I ended up parking in a freestanding Chik-Fil-A lot. My nephew got all excited since next to Cheetos, Chik-Fil-A was his favorite food. I’m not a big patron of Chik-Fil-A as it is a Christian organization, not that I have anything against Christians, I was an altar boy for Christ’s sake, but I am a big believer in the separation of God and food, as it is written in the Constitution. To top it off, these God-fearing chicken killers claim to be, and I quote "the inventors of the chicken sandwich." For some reason I highly doubt this, which would make them liars, and last I checked, lying was a sin, and not a very Christianly thing to be doing. Anyway last time I went through their drive-thru I got stiffed on my honey mustard, so somebody is going to hell, and it ain't the fat kid that ate a box full of dry Chik'n Nuggets.

We got out of the car and started walking toward the mall when I saw a pimply-faced Chik-Fil-A employee taking out the trash. He saw us leaving the lot and started writing down my license plate. Fuckin’ Judas! I grabbed my nephew’s hand and headed back to the Chik-Fil-A.

“Hey buddy, haha! We thought there was a side entrance, but I guess there’s not. I’m starving for some Chik-Fil-A, Glory be God!”

“Sorry brother, I thought you were one of those heathens that parks here illegally and walks to the mall. Please, come in and enjoy a bountiful chicken feast by his hands.”

We got inside and ordered some food under the watchful eye of my escorting trash-dutied apostle, Dante. I got the Chik-Fil-A sandwich with some waffle fries and a lemonade, and my nephew got the kiddie-nugget combo. God must not be a cheap fry cook cause that shit cost me like fifteen bucks.

When we were done securing our salvations by sacrificing to he who fries deeply and often, we bolted out and headed to the mall. As we journeyed through the crowded parking lots my nephew took the opportunity to unveil the pictorial he was putting together on my camera phone. I scrolled thru the pictures, and although some of the camera angles were rather avant-garde, they were all pretty lacking in the “Any Redeemable Value” department.

Well, here’s a nice shot of the back of my head (delete)

And here’s my head again, but from a lower angle to enhance its eerie resemblance to a head of cauliflower. Nice touch. (delete)

And this series of pictures real captures the step-by-step carnage of an exploding Ding-Dong. (delete)

And here’s a close-up of a seat belt buckle. Ho-hum (delete)

And here’s a close-up of an empty Burger King bag of whooper wrappers. Um, I don’t eat that poison. (delete)

And here’s a close-up of a mangled severed hand under the passenger seat. Yikes, I thought I got rid of that. (delete)

And here’s an intrusive voyeuristic shot of two scantily clad buxemous women making out in the front seat of a convertible at a traffic light. (SAVE)

Oh, here’s an interesting shot….

“OOOO Wyatt, I like the lighting on this one. It looks like the inside of a prehistoric cavern. And inside there’s a guy with a straw hat jumping rope! That’s cool, how’d you do that?”

“That the inside of my nose!!! I worked real hard on that one!”

“Obviously.” (delete)

“I’m a good potogofur, right Unco Onionhead?”

“It’s amazing, Wyatt. The pictures here look like they were taken with no effort whatsoever.”

“I know, I’m real good!”

“The best.”

“Are you gonna save them?”

“You bet. I’m wiring them in to CNN as we I speak.” (delete) (delete) (delete)

“Oh, coooool.”

We walked into one of the side entrances of the mall, and much to my dismay the place was packed like a pair of over-stuffed daisy dukes at a Stuckey’s truck stop. Let me just say I’m not a mall person. It’s not that I hate shopping, because I like buying stuff, just ask the courtesy callers at Visa and Mastercard. And it’s not that I hate crowds, because I love going to football games and concerts and such. No, there’s something about the mall that gets my internal compass all twisted. I’m blinded by the shimmer of faux-gold jewelry hawked by guys named Vlad pushing carts and wearing enough cologne to eusthanize a herd of oxen. I’m mesmerized by the sheer tackiness of airbrushed license plates and the pointlessness of ugly ceramic trinkets with farm animals doing human chores like cooking and gardening, like if they were really that smart they would go cook brunch and not slit our throats first. I’m confused by the need for the multi-purpose products at The Sharper Image, such as a foot massager with built-in alarm clock, and a coffee brewer equipped with an AM/FM radio and car battery recharger. I’m nauseated by the smell of Vinny’s Pizza Pit, Master Ho’s Wok and Walk, and Winston’s Church Hill Grill & Pub Fries, clashing with the freshly involuntarily sprayed scents of the department store Perfume Nazis. It’s all of these things at once that scrambles the codes in my brain and leads me into bad purchasing decisions like the ceramic “Makin’ Bacon” Copulating Country Pigs salt n’ pepa shakers I got for my mom for Mother’s Day and the electronic screwdriver with built-in nose hair trimmer I bought for my pop on Father’s Day. I needed direction fast or I’d be buying my nephew a cigar store Indian or a pair of plus-sized ladies Capri pants for his birthday.

“Look Unco Onionhead, it’s the poweese.” My nephew said pointing inside the big glass window of Victoria’s Secret.

Sure enough it was our old friends Officer Bob and Officer Steve inside Victoria’s Secret in what appeared to be an intense mall police crackdown on morally offensive lingerie. That’s it, these clowns practically live at the mall, surely they could help us find Build-A-Bear, so we walked on in. Officer Bob was scotch-taping up what appeared to be a crime scene around one of the display tables, and Officer Steve had out his Junior Private Eye Fingerprint Kit and was doing some serious pantie dusting.

“Hey, Officer Steve, Officer Bob, long time no see. What’s happening?”

“Stand back boy and dontcha come any closer, ya hear? This is an official police investigation and we don’t need ya taintin none of the evidence,” ordered Officer Bob.

“Wow a real life crime scene! What kind of criminal activity are you guys sniffing out?”

“Well, Officer Steve and I were making our rounds up in here and he noticed that all of these panties on this table here were missing the crotches out of ‘em. Looks like a 696 went down.”

“A 696? What’s that?”

“Grand Crotch Larceny, boy. Probably a ring of sicko internet porn pervs.” said Officer Steve.

“Umm guys. I think they are made without the crotches. It’s the style.”

“Hogwash, that’s what the manager told us when we interrogated her, so we’re suspectin’ a possible inside job.”

“Well hey, good luck to you on that”

“Thanks boy, we’ll sho need it to get to the bottom of these missin crotches. Say where’s that poopy kid you had wid ya’?

“Oh he’s right here…ummm…he was right here just a second ago…dammit where did that little fucker go!”

“Dadgummit! Watch that forked tongue of yours boy, there are ladies present.”

“Oh sorry, Officer Bob. Let me try again. Dagnabbit, where did that little rascal go?”

“Much better!” said Officer Bob with Officer Steve nodding in agreement.

“Thanks!”

“Well just don’t stand there with your dick in yer hand, go find that kid before he starts taking a dump in the corner somewhere.”

“Right. I’ll be right back.”

Jesus Chr....errr...Jiminy Crickets! I can’t take my eyes of that kid for a second without him getting into some kind of mischief. I started turning the place over trying to find him. Behind the nightgowns, no. In back of the perfume display, no. In the changing room, no. SLAP!

“Sorry!”

“Pervert!”

Just then one of the helpful employees adorned in a white satin teddie and festive red Santa hat jiggled my way.

“Sir, you look a little lost. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Um…Um…Um”

“Sir, my face is up here.”

“Oh yeah. I lost my nephew. He’s about a foot and a half tall with blue eyes and blonde hair.”

She looked around but didn’t see him anywhere, so, much to my delight, she pulled a chair out from behind the counter and stood up on it.

“Gee, there is a much better view of the whole store from up here but I still don’t see him anywhere. Do you see him yet?”

“Um…Um…Um”

“Sir?”

“Um…Um…Um”

Suddenly, like four feet away, my nephew pops out of the discount padded push-up bra bin laughing hysterically like he was playing in Chuck E Cheese’s giant colorful Bin O’ balls.

“There you are you naughty little boy,” she squealed.

Great. Our goose was surely cooked now. Santa’s helper got off the chair and walked over to the bra bin. No doubt we would be thrown out of the store and probably the mall too.

“O aren’t you are just adorable. How cuuuute!”

OK, maybe not.

The next thing you know four more of Santa’s sexy helpers joined in and started ogling over how precious the little troublemaker in the bra bin was. They were running their hands through his hair, and kissing him on the cheek, and taking turns giving him big hugs. It was like the beginning of something you would read out of the Penthouse Forum that you know never happened (not that I read that filth). What in the world! Why doesn’t this ever happen to me? Daaaay-um!

“He’s just a little teddy bear!”

“O you are so huggable!”

“I just want to wrap him up in a box and take him home!”

My nephew was cheesin’ the whole time and totally eating it up. Then he pulls out MY camera phone and starts propositioning the hired help.

“You’re real pretty. Can I take your picture? I’m a good potogofur.”

“O, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Of course you can take my picture sweetheart!”

O brother! What a little pimp! They couldn’t keep their hands off of him as they were all crowding to get in the pictures with him. It was a nephew sandwich and he was right in the middle. He had a smile on his face that was like Christmas morning times ten. Why can’t that be me? Why? Why God Why? I couldn’t bear to look anymore so I turned around and hit what I thought was a wall. When I looked up I wished it was.

“Well, well, well, Mr. Onionhead.”

“O…hey Principal Pissypants. Um what brings you here?” I asked. I was trying to fathom what kind of lingerie this sasquatch could possibly put on, but then the mental images almost made me eject chunky vomit out of my nose, so I painfully sucked it up.

“I needed a new shower cap, but that’s none of your business. But, Mr. Onionhead, I think the question is what are you doing here. And what are you doing her with your six year old nephew, in his sickly condition. And why is he in a bin of bras being tickled by a gang of questionably dressed women in a photo shoot?”

“Those are all great questions, and, ha-ha, I can assure you there is a good explanation…”

“Save it, Mr. Onionhead. I don’t want to hear anymore of your lies. You can rest assured that I will tell your sister first thing in the morning about how you put the welfare of her son in jeopardy with your irresponsibility and lascivious behavior. You will not be picking up any child at my school ever again”

“But, but, but..”

“Good day, Mr. Onionhead.” And with that she picked up her bag and lumbered out of the store. Damn, I was done for now. Once my sister hears Principal Pissypant’s impending tale of woe, she won’t trust me to water a cactus, let alone take care of her kids.

“Sir, here’s your nephew back,” said Santa’s original helper as she handed him over to me.

“Wyatt you come back here to see us real soon OK. And be a good boy for your uncle that way Santa brings you everything your little heart desires, OK?”

“Okey-dokey,” he said “bye-bye!”

We started walking out of the store and were passing Officer Bob and Officer Steve who were busy placing crotchless panties in Ziploc bags and labeling them for evidence. Wait a minute, why did we come in here to begin with?

“Hey Officer Steve, how do we get to Build-a-Bear from here?”

“Oh it’s just raht around the corner here past the Giant Cookie Store. It’s raht across from Maggie Moo’s Ice Cream Barn, and raht next to Sergeant Slurpee. Can’t miss it bo!”

“Hey thanks, we really appreciate it. Good luck on your case.”

We started walking away and I stopped. I had an idea, and that doesn’t happen often so I walked back to the crime scene.

“Say, Officer Bob and Officer Steve, I think I might know who walked off with those crotches.”

I proceeded to rat out a certain behemoth who had a distinct disliking for me. Of course she didn’t steal the crotches, no one stole the crotches. But I couldn’t imagine what her face would look like when Officer Bob and Officer Steve asked her to open her bags. I described her to a tee as Officer Bob and Steve took detailed notes in their Scooby-Doo Book of Croos crime-fightin’ pads.

“She just left less than five minutes ago. If you leave now you may be able to apprehend her before she strikes again.”

“Sir, as officers of the law we thank you. And your community thanks you as well. Let’s go, Officer Steve.”

They both checked their walkie-talkies to make sure their batteries were fresh, and then in a blinding blaze of glory they waddled off in hot pursuit. I took my nephew by the hand and we walked exactly the way Officer Steve had directed us. Sure enough I could see Sergeant Slurpee in the distance, and there beside it was Build-a-Bear. My nephew reaffirmed this.

“BIDABER, BIDABER, BIDABER, WOOO HOOOO!!!” and he took off running at full speed. I didn’t bother chasing after him this time because I knew exactly where he was going. The neon Build-a-Bear sign shined upon us like a crazy diamond or even the star of Bethlehem guiding this wise man and dumb kid to the promised land. We were finally here. It was simple from here on out. Just get the bear stuffed and get the hell out. It would be easy as pie, so why did I get the feeling that pie was about to be thrown in my face.
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check back next week for the exciting conclusion!